A Bit down in the Mouth
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: What's worse than a toothache?  Illya with a toothache   rated S for silly


Illya stared at the aspirin bottle, trying to will the words to change. _Directions: Two tablets ever four hours. Why couldn't it say four tablets every two hours?_ His stomach gurgled. It was upset from a lack of food and too many pills. Illya would like to have taken one of the many pain meds he had stashed away in his bathroom, but didn't dare come to work with those in his bloodstream. Instead, he palmed three white tablets and popped them into his mouth, washing them down with the dregs of his morning coffee, wincing at the taste. _Why couldn't this happen a week later? After Thanksgiving?_

Illya didn't need to look in the mirror to know that his jaw was swollen; he could tell that from the way his face ached and the trouble he was having keeping his right eye open. He desperately wanted to call in sick today, but his sense of duty didn't permit that. The world didn't stop being in jeopardy simply because he had a toothache. Perhaps a nice gun battle would crop up and take his mind off the throbbing in his jaw – or even put him out of his misery.

The door slid open and he dropped the bottle of pills into his drawer and pulled out a stapler.

"All I'm saying is that babies are great, just as long as the stork doesn't visit my doorstep." Napoleon was talking to someone in the corridor. He laughed, turned and started to speak, "Morning, partner… oh my god, Illya, what happened to you?"

"Huh?" Illya tried to make it as noncommittal as possible, as if the thought of his face aching… pounding in time with his heart, making his eyes feel as if they would pop from his skull at any moment… as if none of that had occurred to him.

"Your face! It looks like someone hit you with a two by four." Napoleon walked up to the desk and reached out a hand to take Illya's chin. Or at least he tried to. Illya swatted the hand away.

"Nothing, I'm fine." Except that it came out, "nofing m fin."

"That is a bold-faced lie. Come on. I'm taking you to Medical."

"No." That came out crystal clear.

"Illya, if there's something wrong with one of your teeth, it needs to be tended to."

Illya remembered all too well the last time he had a toothache. He'd been a student in England and had, on the advice of a classmate, visited a dentist. The man decided the tooth needed to come out and proceeded to do just that. Even with enough Novocain to drop a draft horse in his tracks, Illya felt as if the dentist was ripping his testicles out through his mouth. He'd never experienced that sort of pain, at least not from someone other than a member of THRUSH. Illya swore he never would again, not if he had any say about it.

"Illya, be reasonable. You are in pain and you can't function like this. As your superior I'm ordering you to report to Medical."

"And I respectfully decline." Illya flipped open the folder on his desk and attempted to concentrate upon the words there. It was a report outlining the newest weapons and how they rated. Except that the words seemed to have trouble staying in focus. Illya stared at them, swearing he knew what they meant.

"Illya, don't make me call in the heavy hitters."

"Napoleon, just leave me alone," he mumbled. The pain was starting to ease off. Obviously the latest dose of aspirin was kicking in. "I'll be fine."

Napoleon slid down into his chair and began his morning ritual of arranging his mail. It was something he did every day, but the shuffling, the sipping of coffee, and the clicking of the ballpoint pen all conspired to make Illya feel as if he were covered in itching powder.

"Napoleon, do you have to make so much noise with that pen?" he snapped and his partner's head came up.

"Sorry, I wasn't aware that I was." Napoleon hastily set the pen down.

"And must you slurp your coffee?"

"When it's that hot, yes."

Illya returned to the report, feeling his cheeks start to burn. He was wrong to have yelled at Napoleon, but his nerves were stretched tight. Every whisper of sound seemed to poke him relentlessly until he was ready to scream with frustration.

The door opened and two Section Two agents walked in. Illya glanced up at them and then back down before they got the full effect of his malady. They must be here for an assignment.

"Escort Mr. Kuryakin to Medical," Napoleon said quietly, but Illya's hearing was working just fine.

"I don't need to go to Medical!" Illya argued, bracing for a fight.

"I didn't ask you…this time. Don't lose him and use force if necessary. When you have safely delivered him to Dr. Stanwick, stand guard outside the door until such time as the doctor relieves you."

One of the agents reached out and Illya stood, his gaze cold. "Touch me and lose it."

"Shoot him if you have to." Napoleon lifted a report folder and flipped it open.

"Napoleon!"

"I gave you a direct order. You saw fit to ignore it – now you do not have the option."

"This isn't over," Illya murmured and grabbed his jacket.

"It never is." Napoleon muttered and turned his attention to the report.

Illya settled back in the chair and glared. He glared at the receptionist, the dental assistant, the other patients, even the little girl, obviously the child of a fellow UNCLE employee, clutching her very pink plastic horse. This only resulted in him being whisked into an exam room that much faster.

Illya crossed his arms over his chest and kept the dental assistant trapped in the corner of the room by the sheer intensity of his frown.

The dentist entered and sighed. Illya could tell this wasn't going to be his idea of a good time either. Well, if he wanted an easy career, he should have gone into the performing arts. For a moment, Illya entertained the image of the dentist as the Evil Rat King and he the gallant Nutcracker, taking the enemy out with a well placed bayonet.

"I won't say good morning," the doctor said, "since it obviously isn't for either of us. Open up, please."

"No."

"Mr. Kuryakin…"

"I was forced to report here and report here I have. Now I will leave."

"You will sit there and let me do what I need to do."

"No, thank you."

"I shall be forced to take drastic measures."

"It's your life."

Dr. Stanwick's head dropped for a moment and Illya could hear him muttering about miserable Section Two agents. "We can do this with or without your cooperation."

"Without, I think." Illya crossed his arms over his chest and dared the doctor to proceed.

"Very well. Mr. Solo warned us about this."

There was a hint of movement at the edge of his peripheral vision and he started to move. That's when hands clamped onto him and held him back in the chair. A black mask was forced over his mouth and nose and he started to struggle, holding his breath. Finally, necessity forced him to take a breath and his vision began to swim. He continued to fight, but his limbs were getting heavier…

He looked up and yelled. The bright pink pony that had been sniffing him jumped back and blinked big blue eyes at him. It was surprised as well and let go a stream of urine that smelled suspiciously like peppermint. Illya was not inclined to get any closer to find out why.

"What the hell…" Illya muttered and struggled to his feet, feeling oddly off balance. He looked down and gasped. While the tutu covered all the necessary bits of his anatomy to remain socially polite, still a tulle skirt was not his idea of proper male attire. Well, at least he had shoes on… no, he had pale blue combat boots on and a matching pale blue shoulder holster.

He eased the weapon from the holster and the pony began to quake.

"I'm not going to shoot you," Illya muttered, looking at the suction tipped arrow that stuck out from the barrel. "At least not with this."

"That's good," the pony replied and kicked him in the mouth, right dead center in the sore spot. While the blow was hard, it didn't really hurt, but Illya wasn't going to let the pony know that.

"What did you do that for?"Illya roared, bringing a hand to his mouth.

"That was to get your attention."

"I'm wearing a tutu and talking to a plastic horse. Believe me, you have all my..."

Something caught his eye… a bird, a tall stork-like thing, refreshingly not pink or blue, but a mint green. And there was something about the way the bird carried himself that was very Napoleon-like. That was… disturbing.

Another kick and this one hurt. "What?" He wiped his mouth, relieved to see it was drool and not blood.

"Can you feel that?" The pony started to circle him, eyeing him warily.

"Of course, it hurt. What the hell do you think?"

The bird suddenly swooped in and pecked his mouth, Illya bit down hard and the bird squawked.

"Enough!" Illya brought a hand up to protect himself – or tried to. His hands just stopped about mid way.

"It's not enough until I say it's enough," Stork Napoleon said and pecked again.

His arms weren't working, but his legs were and Illya caught the bird just beneath the breast bone and sent it back a few steps.

"None of that now." Illya suddenly found himself flat on his back with a bright pink and disturbingly wet tail in his face. The rest of the pony was sitting firmly on his chest. "Sit still and it will all be over in a minute."

The stork was hovering close to his face now and Illya suddenly feared for his eyesight. He thrashed and fought until he had nothing left. Illya fell back exhausted

"Finally", the stork muttered and moved in for the kill.

"The next time we do this, I want combat pay."

"It wasn't so bad once you got him anesthetized."

"He bit my nurse!"

Illya had the vague idea that something had happened. His stomach lurched and he took a deep breath. His mouth felt full of cotton and his tongue, the busybody, hurried to check it out.

_Not cotton, stupid, gauze... blood soaked…_ That was enough. This time Illya's stomach rebelled and he vomited. _All over the dentist – nice shooting._ Illya tried to gloat, but his stomach didn't give him time, protesting again and again until Illya was leaning weakly against Dr. Stanwick.

"Just relax, try to breathe." There was cool air in his face and Illya drew in a deep lungful of oxygen. It made his head sing happily, even if the rest of him didn't join in.

"Hey, partner, how are you feeling?" Napoleon, the real Napoleon and not the stork one, came into view and exchanged places with Dr. Stanwick.

"Mouf hurts," Illya muttered, clearing his throat. The stomach bile made it feel burnt.

"As well it should. " Stanwick stripped off his soiled smock and tossed it into the corner "You had an impacted wisdom tooth. We practically had to break your jaw to get it out. You do have one or two new gadgets in there that you'll find helpful."

"One or two?"

"We ended up pulling three teeth in all."

"Free?" Illya stared up at the distant wall. It was swirling happily.

"Looks like one had been gone for a while."

That had been a crowbar welding THRUSH, but Illya didn't feel like discussing it. "Home?" He looked towards Napoleon, who'd taken on a sideways cant.

"After you've rested a bit. Your partner is going to stay with you, so try and get some sleep." It was at that point Illya realized he was in Medical. He sighed and screwed his eyes shut against the impending pain.

"You get some sleep, Illya." Napoleon's hand was warm on his shoulder as he pressed him back into the bed. Only Napoleon was allowed such liberties.

_Good old non-stork Napoleon_.

"When you wake up, I'll be waiting here with some nice Jell-O."

"But tomorrow's Thanksgiving. The Waverly's annual…" It sort of came out a garbled messed, but Napoleon nodded even as Illya was trailing off, his eyes anguished.

"I know, but you are on a liquid diet until you've healed." He squeezed Illya's shoulder gently as Illya's eyes drifted shut. "Sorry, partner."

_Life just wasn't fair,_ Illya thought, although his mouth was feeling much better this week. His stitches were out and last night he'd carefully taken his first bite of solid food. The steak was not much, but it was the Food of the Gods to him.

He sat at his desk, sipping his coffee, happy to not have to avoid the left side of his mouth any longer. Truth be known, he'd be happier if he could avoid the paperwork on his desk as easily. It seemed to have bred while he was out.

The office door opened and Napoleon stuck his head in. "Hey, Illya, do you have a minute?" There was an edge to Napoleon's voice that made Illya pause.

"What's wrong?"

"I need your advice on something. Mikleson is due for promotion, but I want you to watch a video and see if you notice what I did."

"My advice? That hardly seems likely. You're the one in charge of Section Two. If you have a doubt, don't promote him."

"But I'm not sure if what I'm seeing is even really there. Please?"

"Please?" Illya rose. "Now I'm intrigued."

He followed Napoleon obediently down the hall, his mind working to shift through the many different memories he had of Mikleson. He'd always seemed exemplary to Illya.

Napoleon stopped in front of a conference room door and gestured him in. Illya got only two steps into the room before a rich aroma made him pause. Instead of the usual blotters on the long table, there were plates and several covered dishes nestled down in the center of the table.

Mrs. Waverly was suddenly at his side, taking his arm in hers. "We felt so badly that you couldn't join us, we decided to wait just a bit and have our Thanksgiving when you could join us."

"Well, not entirely, the grandchildren and all," Waverly garumphed out, even as he was eyeing the sweet potato pie. "But life is entirely too short not to celebrate while you can."

"All… for me?"

"Well, you do have to share," Napoleon murmured, "or the Old Man will be sending you back to see Cutter faster than you can count to five."

"I don't know what to say…" Illya scanned the room and smiled. "Thank you. This is most unexpected and generous of you."

"Well, it wasn't the same without you and Alexander fighting over the last turkey leg. And I did miss the two of you washing up afterwards."

Illya grinned at that and nodded, "Yes, Ma'am!" And as long as Stork Napoleon and the little pink peppermint-peeing pony stayed away, he decided that perhaps life wasn't as bad as he thought.


End file.
